


Stain

by bearundersiege



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-14
Updated: 2012-07-14
Packaged: 2017-11-09 23:05:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/459479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bearundersiege/pseuds/bearundersiege
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stannis remembers the first time he held the kraken boy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stain

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for ADWD
> 
> Random Stannis/Theon crackship fic. Cross-posted from my Tumblr.

Stannis had always wondered how his brother felt when he was with his young rose. It seemed foolish to him to defy the teachings of the Faith to be with the Knight of Flowers, but whenever Renly spoke of him, there was not a drop of guilt in his eyes, only bliss that guarded his fantasies against the whispers of court.

The first time Stannis held the kraken boy, he had tried to keep the gloves from being removed, the ones that kept his maimed hands hidden from the gazes of the black brothers and wildlings, some pitiful, others smug. But Stannis was king and he was not to be denied his command. He held the boy’s hands within his own and pulled the supple leather over his remaining fingers, never missing the flinch that crossed his face or the sheen that glossed his eyes. 

Stannis passed his thumb over the scarred stubs that he was so ashamed of. He didn’t understand what it was that made him turn his eyes away when Stannis looked at them. Davos’ own was not whole as well, by his own order and doing, and the onion knight derived only luck from the bones of his fingers he had lost smuggling. Yet the boy felt humiliation from something he had lost to nothing but the cruelty of the Bolton bastard. 

His shirt came off next, with surprisingly little protest. He had gained back half the weight he had lost and looked almost healthy again, though no meal would return the dark tint of his hair, nor the strength of his teeth. Stannis saw pride stir in those dark eyes when he beheld the flesh on his bones, now enough to hide the sharpness of his joints and fill the skin that had seemed so much like an old man’s. 

Stannis reached for the laces on the boy’s breeches when a hand— the one that was mostly whole, he did not fail to note— stopped him. 

“Please, don’t,” he whispered. Stannis ignored him and began unlacing it again, only to be slapped away and pushed back. He wanted to grind his teeth, to remind him that he was the king when he noticed that the boy’s shoulders were shaking, and the tears from his eyes were falling freely on the warm furs that covered the bed. He tried to speak, but only a sob came forth, and Stannis understood and gathered him in his arms, wishing he could offer more than an awkward embrace and silence. 

Stannis would never know how Renly felt when he was with the young Tyrell, but at that moment, he thought perhaps he had come close to it.


End file.
